Cruel to be Kind
by The North Wyn
Summary: AU. Simmons is captured and held by Garrett and his men. Ward is tasked with interrogating her. Now a multi-chap fic. Chapter 4 is now up!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is actually a oneshot I started shortly after the Hydra reveal and have just now got around to posting. _

_Warnings: Some mentions of torture and non-graphic torture._

* * *

They've already gone a few rounds with her by the time Garrett sends him in.

"_Build on some of that _rapport_ you formed with her. Charm her. Get her to help us." _

He hesitates outside the door. Takes a deep breath.

"_And Grant? I don't need to remind you of what they'll do to her if you don't get her to talk_."

No, he doesn't.

He pushes the door open.

He sees the relief that instinctively crosses her face before she remembers. He crosses the room and reaches for her wrists, which are bound to the chair. She breathes in sharply as his hands brush hers. He cuts the bonds. She pulls her hands back from him quickly and gingerly massages them while looking up at him with wary eyes.

"Sorry about the Welcome Wagon. They're not as friendly as S.H.I.E.L.D's." It's a joke, but Simmons doesn't laugh.

It's ok; he doesn't really feel like laughing either.

"Now, you know what they want, Dr. Simmons. There are two ways this goes."

_Is one of them the easy way? _He pushes the memory of a very different interrogation a whole lifetime ago out of his mind. He stands back a little from her and crosses his arms.

Simmons looks up at him defiantly, eyebrows raised. When she offers no retort, he continues. "Let's start with something simple: Is all your research on the GH-325 contained on the flash drive we obtained from Skye?"

She gives him a deliberately blank look.

"Fine. What do you know about the GH-325? Specifically, its origin, its properties, and its effect on Skye and Coulson?"

"In English, please," he adds, a little softer, trying once again for humor.

"I'm not going to tell you anything. They'll have to kill me first," she hisses, face full of fury.

"They're not going to kill you."

She looks up at him, surprised. For a genius, she's not very smart. "What?"

He pulls a chair over and sits down in front of her, close enough that their knees touch. He leans forward; she leans back.

"They're not going to kill you, Simmons."

He reaches up to brush the bruises on her cheek. She flinches.

"They want what's in your brain. And they're going to do whatever they think is necessary to get it. They're going to hurt you. They're going to make you suffer. And they're not going to stop until you give it to them. You will scream and beg, but if they don't get what they want, well—you don't want that. Make it easy on yourself; help us."

She can't find the words, but she shakes her head. _Come on, Simmons._

"Wrong answer. You don't really know anything about torture, do you, tucked away in your safe lab? You don't know how bad it can be. But these men? It's like breathing to them. Simmons, I'm trying to _help_ you."

She takes a shaky breath and looks away from him, fixing the corner with a tear-filled steely glare. _Ok, then._

"Did you know that there are ways to simulate falling to your death? Your body, your brain _really_ believe you are falling to your death. You go into shock. Your heart stops. You die. And then they will restart your heart. And if you still tell them no, they'll do it again. And again."

She is shaking and tears are running down her cheeks. He sighs wearily. "Come on, Simmons."

She lifts her head up and fixes him with a look he knows; Jemma Simmons is trying to be brave.

Finally she finds her voice and what she says takes him by surprise. "Is this what you want, Grant?"

It isn't. Not really.

It doesn't matter.

It does.

It can't.

He leans closer, invading her space further, and sneers, "You don't get it. _Agent Grant Ward_," it's a mockery of the tone she and Fitz had used and he thinks he even made it nasally enough this time, "_Never_ existed."

Her face crumples. She blinks fiercely at the tears. She sits up straighter, lays her wrists down on the chair arms, and looks resolutely away from him. "I'd like you to go away now," she says primly, "You can send the other men back in."

Something in his stomach twists unpleasantly. He used to be the one she counted on to protect her and now she'd rather be with the men who hit her than with him.

It doesn't matter.

It _does_.

It can't.

He gets up and leaves without another word.

He doesn't send the men back in, though.

-end-


	2. Coffee and Charm

A/N: So, this was an originally just an one-shot, but people asked for more and the muse complied. Many thanks to my sister (valiantarcher) for reading it and to the lovely PrincessMelia for being my beta!

Grant gets up early the next morning. He'd hardly slept at all. His mind had tormented him—not undeservedly—all night by replaying Simmons sending him away. With the knowledge that this was something he had to fix, he headed toward her cell, still plagued with the thoughts that had troubled him all evening.

He owed Garrett everything and would do anything he asked.

_But. _

But he had never wanted that to include hurting the team or betraying them. At least, not since they had become flesh and blood and real people to him. People he had played scrabble with and ate dinner with and made jokes with and lived with and saved, over and over.

And when he'd left them all behind and come back to Garrett, he'd thought, well, he'd foolishly hoped he'd never have to face his divided loyalties again.

But now Simmons is _here_ and he is compromised. His two loyalties are at war. He'd sworn to give his all to Garrett's mission, but he'd also promised Simmons that he'd catch her if she fell. And when he'd made those vows, he'd meant them. Completely.

Maybe he can still have both.

He wants both, desperately.

Simmons may not want to see him, but if he doesn't get the information Garrett wants out of her, John's just going to keep sending in guys to beat her up. Ward doesn't intend to let that happen. So she has no choice in the matter. He's not letting her send him away again. She'll talk today. He's going to make it happen.

He strides down the hall to her cell with a hot mug of coffee and a new determination. He's going to try a different tact. Jemma Simmons is brave and defiant; scaring her wasn't going to get anyone very far.

"Take a walk," he tells the guard outside her door. "She's mine today."

The guard smirks, but leaves.

Ward opens the door. No hesitation today. Simmons' head jerks up. Her expression becomes angry instantly; he ignores it. He can't spot any fresh bruises on her, to his relief.

He holds the mug out to her. "Sorry we don't have any tea; this will have to do."

She takes it from his hands. "Is it poisoned?"

"What? No!"

The way she blinks at him makes him realize that he's unintentionally slipped back into his Agent Grant Ward persona in her presence. The Grant she knows would drink a thousand vials of poison for her. This Grant would like to think he would, too.

He plucks the mug out her hands and pulls it to his lips, raising his eyebrows at her in the cockiest expression he can muster. He takes a long sip and lowers the mug.

"See? No poison."

She doesn't acknowledge the statement in any way, but she does take it back when he offers it and drinks from it.

"Thank you," she manages politely.

He's impressed. Simmons is so polite that she can't even help thanking her captors. He can see by the expression on her face that she kind of hates herself for it.

She takes a sip, brows wrinkling in distaste. But she takes another and another, drinking in silence until the mug is half-empty, grimacing all the while. But it's warm and it's also the only thing close to food she's been given since she got here, so he knows she won't waste it.

"It's a good thing that there is no real truth serum," she says dryly, finishing the mug.

Without his permission, his mind jumps back to that long-ago interrogation. If only pretending to spill his secrets would yield the same results...

Wait. He doesn't need an actual truth serum. Perhaps spilling some of his secrets would go a long way towards gaining Simmons' trust and loosening her tongue.

He pulls the other chair closer to her, a relaxing conversational distance this time, and sits down. She fiddles with the empty mug and watches him with suspicion.

"I suppose you have questions for me," he says casually. "What do you want to know?"

She's surprised, but she doesn't waste the opportunity. "Yes," she hisses, leaning forward. "How did you become _this_?"

He blinks at her in sluggish, stupid surprise. He's not sure what he was expecting, but this level of fury is something new. She's usually so compassionate and forgiving. Perhaps he's underestimated Jemma Simmons.

"Someone who would betray his friends?" She continues, her voice harsh and jagged.

"I never meant to hurt any of you-"

Simmons scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"I—you were complications." He admits, "I became attached. I regret that."

"We were complications? How _inconvenient_ for you."

"I meant—this was only supposed to be a mission for Garrett. You were only a mission."

He can tell by her face he's not making this any better.

He wishes she would understand. Skye didn't, but he had thought … He had hoped. Well, Simmons was kindness and understanding and second chances personified. She was _supposed_ to understand.

"All this was for Garrett? He was worth all this?"

"I owe him _everything_. He _saved _me. Simmons, you can't possibly understand how awful it was, how bad I had it growing up. All these sacrifices—I made them all for _him_-" He falters.

Hadn't he told Skye he made those sacrifices to survive? He wonders which one is true. He can't afford to think like this. He takes a deep breath.

_Do not let her get under your skin. You have a job to do._

He needs to hurry this along, create a sense of urgency in her.

He stands up. "Time's almost up, Simmons. You should talk. I shared, your turn."

There is silence. He waits. And waits some more.

This conversation is going nowhere. He heads out, "Well, if you're not going to tell me anything."

He pauses at the door, waits more. She gives a tiny shake of her head.

"Simmons, you're running out of time." He stops at the door, "If you're hoping for a rescue, you're going to die waiting."

She frowns.

"Coulson has to realize he would be storming a heavily-guarded, well-armed facility with only six people, and that's assuming Triplett even stuck around. Either way, he's hopelessly out-manned. And let's take roll: May and Trip could hold their own. Coulson's pretty good, considering his age and comparative lack of experience in the field. And Skye-" her name sticks in his throat- "she's very good; I am proud of that, but she still hasn't had enough experience to truly be considered a physical threat, And Fitz-" he watches the way her jaw hardens at his name, but there is definite worry in her face, "He wouldn't make it. I'm sorry, Simmons, but it's true."

She blinks rapidly and he knows that playing the Fitz card is playing dirty. He wants to stop, but he can't. He has to get her to talk. John needs this Intel. And Ward wants it for him. And he intends to keep Simmons safe while doing so. He can have both. Surely he can have both. If Simmons would only cooperate.

He presses on, trying to seal the deal. "Coulson's not going to risk it just for _you_."

It's a lie. Ward knows this. Simmons probably does, too. But if nothing else, he knows she is doing the calculation of probable success and expected casualty rate, based off the facts he just provided. Now there are tears in her eyes again. She clenches her fists and swallows hard.

He wonders why manipulating her so cruelly is making him feel like throwing up.

If she would just give him what he wants, then he wouldn't have to do this.

It's for her own good, he reminds himself.

It's the only way he knows how to keep her safe.

Keep her safe and give Garrett what he wants.

No one ever said this would be easy.


	3. Tactical Error

_A/N: Warning for this chapter includes non-graphic mentions of non-con (because Garrett is a total perv), but _none _actually happens._

* * *

"I almost had her," Grant lies, and lying to Garrett makes him feel like not finishing his lunch, like it will come back up soon anyways. He ignores the feeling and concentrates on cutting his steak.

"Almost is not good enough, Ward," Garrett replies.

"I know, sir," Ward says automatically, deferentially. "I'm just asking for more time. I can get what we need from her, I know."

Garrett sets down his fork and looks sharply at Ward. His eyes light up and Ward gets a bad feeling in his stomach. "Hey, you really like this girl, huh? I thought it was just Skye-" longing and bitterness rise up from the back of Ward's throat at _her_ name-"between this and screwing the Cavalry herself, you really get around," Garrett chortles.

At May's nickname, Ward's stomach plummets. The reverent nickname sounds anything but in Garrett's mouth, and he does feel guilty about playing May, when she was so kind (he supposes that's the word he's looking for) to him.

"No idea you had it bad for the pretty scientist, too," Garrett continues, "Tell you what, there were never so many options of the female persuasion when I was starting off. Gotta hand it to S.H.I.E.L.D., there are _some_ things they do right these days."

It sounds terrible when Garrett lays it out like that, like Ward's friendship with the women on the team boiled down to nothing more than wanting to sleep with them. It's not true of course; he never was interested in sleeping with Jemma, for one thing. Not because she wasn't attractive, but because—wait, what was Garrett saying?

"Turn in early tonight. She'll be waiting in your bunk for you. Consider it my little thank-you."

Grant swallows. "I don't think-"

"Well, don't think it's just because I'm doing you a favor. Clearly what you've tried hasn't worked so far, so how about trying a different interrogation tactic. It's a little self-serving of me, I know, but come on, kid, it'll be fun." He claps Ward on the back.

"No, wai-" Ward starts to protest again, but Garrett's already leaving the room.

* * *

That evening, he puts off returning to his bunk as long as possible. He _hates_ this. He's not going to touch her, but he hates that she won't know that. _Maybe she will, maybe she'll still believe in you after all, maybe..._ But he knows better than to hope. He knows she'll be terrified _of him_ and furious, and he doesn't want to have to face this, face her.

He seriously considers pummeling the guards and Hydra soldiers he passes on his way back to his bunk; they keep shooting him meaningful looks and hollering lewd remarks, and did Garrett seriously tell everyone about this?

He hesitates outside his door. Takes a deep breath. Tries one last time—and fails—to come up with a way around this. Finally, out of options, he pushes open the door.

She's standing in the corner of the room furthest from the door. She jumps when he opens it. There's a panicked expression on her face that does not abate when he walks in. He hasn't seen her this pale since she jumped out of the plane.

"You might want to take a shower."

Her face goes from panic to horror to blank in an instant, and he realizes immediately what she must be thinking. He winces.

"No, Simmons, not what I—I just thought you might like a shower. You've been here for three days and you've been wearing… I just thought you might really like a shower," he finishes lamely.

She still looks concerned, but she nods and says, "I would," very quietly.

He nods and heads for the bathroom adjoining his bunk. He grabs a couple of towels and washcloths, and the biggest t-shirt from his wardrobe that he can find.

He doesn't look back to see if she follows him.

* * *

While she's in the shower, he lays out his sleeping bag on the floor. Just like a sleep-over, he thinks to himself, sarcastically. And he chuckles bitterly at his own dry wit.

He picks up the book he's just started off of his desk, sits down on the sleeping bag, and waits.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she looks slightly less pale. She looks like a child, though, wet tangled hair dangling around her face, her frame swallowed up in the black t-shirt he set out for her. She's clutching her clothes tightly to her chest. Her expression is exhausted and wary. Since he's sitting on the floor, he's not in her immediate line of sight and she has to search him out. Her face falls when she spots him.

"I thought I should tell you that this wasn't my idea. It was Garrett's. He thought—well, he thinks he's giving me a reward."

A look of revulsion crosses her face. "And what about you?"

"I think it's safest to let him assume that's true for now."

She hugs herself tighter and looks away from him.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Jemma, I swear."

She frowns at the use of her first name. He rarely uses it—hardly anyone on the Bus did, even Fitz didn't do so very often—and he's not sure now is an appropriate time to do so.

She sits down on the bed and pulls the blankets tightly around her. "You have been lying to us from the very beginning, so you'll forgive me if your promises are the last thing I trust right now."

It _hurts_. He would never hurt her—never do _this—_never.

He wants to swear it to her, shed blood even, if it would get her to believe, but there is nothing big enough that he could vow on that she would believe now.

"That may be so, but believe me when I tell you that this is only going to get worse. You know what they want me to do to you. And if I don't-" She clenches her jaw angrily. She's very deliberately avoiding eye contact with him and everything about her body language is screaming that she's furious. "-someone else will. You should tell me _something_. Simmons, your loyalty is admirable, but—" _it's going to get you killed _"-S.H.I.E.L.D. is done. It can't hurt to tell us a little. Just enough to satisfy Garrett's curiosity. To make Hydra think you're willing to cooperate."

He forces himself to stop. He's rambling and sounds desperate. He stares at her, in his bed, knowing that if Garrett gave her to anyone else, there would be a lot less talking in that scenario. He looks at the fresh bruise on her left cheekbone, a present from her guards. Well, he _is_ desperate. She should be, too.

"And what happens if I tell you, Ward?" she asks softly, "You keep saying to tell you what I know like it is going

to _save me_, but what happens when they know _everything_? Are you so far gone that you don't realize what happens when a prisoner is no longer useful?" She laughs bitterly, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Maybe, if we're very very good, Garrett lets you keep me around as a _pet_, as a _reward_ for a job well done, for a little while. Until I take up too much space or Garrett gets bored or you have to leave this base in a hurry and cut your losses. If you think I survive _this_, Ward, then you're an even better liar than I thought."

With that, she turns sharply on her side, back to him. As close to the wall as she can get, as far away from him as she can get, he notes.

It hits him, then, like a tsunami wave. She's right. It's true. It's horribly true. Garrett thinks it's funny, that he's given him a _plaything_ to enjoy for now. And sooner or later, he'll tell him to get rid of her.

_Get rid of the dog, then we can go. _

Could he do it? Could he really do it, if Garrett asked? He doesn't want to think about it. He needs to start convincing Garrett that she's useful, that … that killing her might compromise their mission. Yeah, and maybe if he believes that, Ward can sell him some oceanfront property in Arizona.

"Ward?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you leave on a light, please?"

"Sure." He gets up and heads to turn the bathroom light on.

He doesn't recall Simmons being afraid of the dark. Any of the late nights he was up after everyone else was in bed he never saw any light slipping out from under her door.

Then it dawns on him. It's because of him. It's a lot easier to see your enemies coming if they're illuminated.

He moves his sleeping bag a little closer to the bathroom door, allowing Simmons a little more space. He lays down and closes his eyes. He's sure he won't sleep much tonight, but he's going to lie still the entire night and pretend. He doesn't want to spook her. You know, any more than he already has.

"I miss Agent Grant Ward," she says softly.

"If it helps," he replies quietly, "I miss him, too."


	4. Walk of Shame

_A/N: So, so sorry for the wait, guys. This chapter's been written for forever; I just hit a mental block about editing/posting it for some reason. Thanks to everyone who's been reading this and for all of your lovely reviews! Glad you've been enjoying it. :)_

_Also, thanks as always to my lovely beta/editor Melia, who fixes my sloppy mistakes and helps me find things that sound better worded differently. Thanks, hun! :) _

_Warnings: Continuing from last chapter, Garrett remains a skeevy perv, so some discussions of implied non-con occur, but again _none _happens._

* * *

Ward must sleep some despite himself, because at some point he wakes up. Simmons is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in her own clothes, and studying him intently.

"Good morning," he says, sitting up.

She skips the pleasantries. "I don't actually know that much about the GH-325, which"—it's her turn for humor—"is _startling_, considering this is me we are talking about."

He grins at that. But it feels so much like old times that it physically hurts. She must sense it, too, because her smile fades quickly.

"I was researching it at the Hub when Hydra attacked. In fact, I reached out to Agent Weaver"—she glares at him—"in the hopes that her knowledge and the Academy's resources would help. But, it was already under _attack_, hundreds of defenseless _children_ whose only crime was allying themselves with S.H.I.E.L.D. dying without any mercy being shown to them. You can tell_ Garrett_ that. If Hydra had waited, I might actually have some usable intel for them."

_I had nothing to do with those attacks_, Ward reminds himself desperately. He didn't know they would happen. _He _didn't condemn helpless people to a senseless, cruel death. He takes a deep breath; he has no reason to feel guilty. It was terrible what happened, but it had nothing to do with him. He has to focus on what's at hand.

"Well," Ward replies drily, "Garrett didn't exactly control when Hydra decided to come out."

Simmons gives him a funny look. "No, but he was the one _stupid_ enough to blow his own cover shortly into their invasion, which must have shifted your timetable up considerably, didn't it?"

Ward shifts uncomfortably. It was true that Garrett blew their cover and without any warning, forcing him to compensate in ways that he was _less than comfortable with—_

That line of thinking is not productive.

"Careful," he growls.

Jemma winces and scoots back on the bed, away from him. She looks down at the ground for a moment, then back up at him with a steely gaze. "What else do you want to know? I can tell them about the anti-serum for the Chitauri virus. They already know about us stabilizing Mike Peterson and how, _obviously_. They already have the formula for the ICERs."

He gets up and grabs a notepad from his desk, handing it to her. "Start writing."

With a look at him that he can't quite interpret, she takes the notepad and stands up. She turns her back on him and strides to the desk. She sits down, grabs the pen, and leans over the notepad. He sees the smallest hesitation, then she squares her shoulders and begins.

While she writes, he paces restlessly. They're just S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets and they shouldn't, _don't_, really matter he reminds himself. But he knows Simmons didn't want to do this and he knows how strongly her moral convictions are held. Asking her to do this means he forced her to kill a part of herself and he hates that. He reminds himself again that they're just S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets and that doing this was keeping her safe, no matter how much she hated it. She had to know that.

Right?

* * *

"What now?" she asks softly, holding out the notepad to him. "I've done what you asked."

She's been so composed up until this point, at least this morning, but now she looks unsure.

"Now, I'll take you back to your cell, and then I'll go talk to Garrett."

"What are you going to say to him?"

"I don't know."

Jemma lets out a soft sigh, but doesn't say anything else. He takes hold of her upper arm, just tight enough to sell the part. A small voice in his head reminds him that there is no part to sell; he really is keeping her prisoner and he's about to turn the lock on her himself.

"Come on," he says, a little rougher then he means to be.

He opens the door and they step out. She stumbles a little, trying to fall into a rhythm with him as they walk down the hall. He catches her, steadying her, and slows his stride so she can keep up.

The soldiers they encounter on their way back to Simmons' cells leer and jeer. Simmons stares resolutely ahead, jaw rigid with anger, cheeks flushed bright pink.

The hot feeling in the pit of his stomach is closer to shame than anger, no matter how much he tries to convince himself that he is doing the best he can, and that he is better than the monsters surrounding him.

It's not as convincing an argument as it used to be.

Once outside her door, he releases her, opens the door, and lets her step through.

"I'll be back," he promises, but the words sound hollow to his ears, even though he means them.

She gives him a tiny nod and then settles into the chair in the center of the room.

He closes the door to her cell and locks it. He doesn't look back.

* * *

He takes a minute to cool off before finding Garrett. He's not sure exactly what he's angry about. Probably everything. None of this was ever supposed to happen.

* * *

"Ah, there you are." Garrett gives Ward a wicked grin. "Have fun last night?"

Ward mirrors Garrett's grin. He has to sell this and good. "Got to hand it to you, John; you were right. She's all kinds of fun. Can I have her again tonight?"

Garrett guffaws; the sound makes Ward feel sick. "Of course. But tonight, make sure to get some intel from her. After that, have as much fun as you want."

"You mean it?"

Garrett blinks, and then laughs again. "Of course, kid. Would I lie to you?"

Ward ignores that. "No, I meant after she gives us the intel—and she will, she's already started—she stays?"

"She really was that much fun, huh?" Garrett smirks.

"My trophy," Ward shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips that he knows Garrett will buy. He pushes away the gut instinct of nausea at playing Garrett, even so harmlessly. This is for Simmons. He has to keep her safe. He doesn't let himself dwell too much on _why_. "My little reminder of how well I played the team," he finishes, words smooth as honey dripping from his lips, if honey were bitter to swallow. Garrett nods approvingly.

Then, he asks hungrily, "What did she tell you? Anything useful?"

"She doesn't know much," Ward answers, and then to buy them more time, time for what he doesn't know, "but she could be lying."

Garrett studies him in an appraising manner. "Are you going to be able to find out?" The implied threat of _if you can't, I will send someone in who can_ is running beneath the words. Ward suppresses a shiver.

"Of course!" he replies, quickly. He's trying to protect her, not give Garrett an excuse to hurt her further. "She told me that she doesn't know much about the GH-325 and that her experiments at the Hub to determine more were interrupted when Hydra attacked."

"Irony's a bitch, ain't it?" John sighs. "Maybe we should get the girl a lab. Let her try and work it out on her own. Shouldn't be that hard to get some old S.H.I.E.L.D. lab equipment. Not like anyone's using it anyway." He laughs at his own joke and then continues, "She can work in the lab for us during the day, and then at night, she's all yours."

Ward nods. "Thank you, sir."


End file.
